Shatter
by missaishah23
Summary: This is a little post-war drabble I found in the mess that is my computer. R&R :) "But I don't want to lie."


**(A.N.)** This I wrote when I was feeling a bit down as you can probably deduce, but I just wanted to put it out there. I felt that they could have their own problems after the war. I mean it couldn't have been hunky dory, so this is my little dabble of some of the lives affected by the War.

Every time I saw my face in the mirror I immediately shattered it. I had seen 7 mirrors, 49 years bad luck for me. The scars, were too much. Though my face has the majority of the scars I have others, all over me. I always wear long sleeves, and pants. My hair is still as bushy as ever though I never try to tame it. I no longer look like Hermione Granger. I can't go out into the wizarding world without a concealment charm because of the stares, the whispers, the pleas for autographs and pictures. It isn't much better in the muggle world. I still get stared at, they still whisper. It is no longer an escape. My parents are better in Australia, better away from me. Because I'm not me anymore.

It was as though nothing had happened, the last battle, the war was simply a bad dream to the rest of the world. People had rebuilt, started to get back into the way things used to be. But I wasn't the only one who broke. George too had a problem with mirrors and had shattered every one after he had repeatedly mistaken his reflection for Fred, I had helped. He was in St. Mungos, his method of smashing his fists in the mirrors when his reflection wouldn't answer him, caused for concern, as did the catatonic state he was found in after breaking down, huddled in a corner calling for Fred. He had gained his fair share of scars from this bad habit. I had been punctured with glass a few times but once they were all broken I felt a little less worse, the scars didn't stand out, they may have even blended in.

It seemed that even Ginny and Harry were better than I was. They weren't completely okay and had trouble leaving each other but they were okay when together, and even apart they weren't nearly as bad as us. They didn't cringe at their reflection or take pleasure in saying morbid and altogether frightening things. I along with Bill found comfort in the latter. Though Fleur seemed to keep him away from me, thinking I was a bad influence on him. I probably was. It wasn't unusual for me to blurt out the statistics of suicide over desert. It was like I had no control over my mouth, or the filtering part of my brain was off, because I didn't see anything wrong or disturbing about it.

Percy and I also got together sometimes to discuss politics, I was one of his closest friends now. Probably because I was the only one who didn't flinch or turn away when he started to talk to the empty spaces next to him, because according to him it was Fred. I didn't judge, I mean I wasn't exactly in the position to tell him to get help, when I had at least as many problems as him. Sure everyone told me to talk about it or as Mrs. Weasley said express my feelings about the war. I had managed to doge their suggestions of "help" so far. I took long showers now. Sometimes I would spend almost the entire day in the shower, until someone would stop me, and drag me out, usually Harry and Ginny took turns doing this. They threatened to have me sent to St. Mungos. I pitched a fit and threw random facts from a book that I had read about hospitals and statistics of PTSD. They eventually relented and became more strict with me. Mandatory dinners, and visits were scheduled. I felt like a child being shuffled from one person to the next to be watched, to be _taken care_ of. Overall it was harder to sleep and I was on the verge of becoming addicted to Dreamless Drought. Other potions had simply stopped working for me.

And after the war, Ron had taken it upon himself to _take care_ of me. But eventually Ron decided that we were too different for each other (his words not mine), though I knew he didn't want me because I was too crazy for him. I overheard him telling Harry that he couldn't deal with me anymore. But can you blame him? For the most part I was alone and I liked it that way. Sometimes when I wanted company, without the stares or whispers behind my back and secret talks behind closed doors, I went to Luna. She really wasn't Loony. Or maybe she was but I was too now so what was the difference? She would prattle on about Moon Frogs or Dabberblimps, nodding interestedly when I would blurt out a morbid factoid. Sometimes we would both make Wrackspurt protection necklaces or gather Gulping Plimpies. I spent a lot of time with her and a few times I would make a comment about Nargles at a mandated Weasley dinner and I got even more stares as they exchanged meaningful glances between each other. I didn't care. I think that was the problem now, I didn't care anymore. I loved everyone too much to kill myself, and after all the fighting for my life, after all the death I wasn't going to let myself die. But everything seemed to revert back to the way it was before the war for the most part. There were fewer people and some of us were messed up. But others simply moved on, they simply lived and grew, and changed. They started families and got jobs and continued. I wish I could say I got better, that I bought a mirror, that George left St. Mungos, Percy stopped talking to invisible ghosts, Bill stopped disturbing everyone with his morbidity, frightening people with his scars, and Hermione Granger came back and married Ron and lived happily ever after. But I don't want to lie.

**Review?**


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